


The Night El’s Me Time Saved Their Sex Life (The Rediscovery Remix)

by livrelibre



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bondage, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Painplay, Remix, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livrelibre/pseuds/livrelibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to rediscover yourself so you can rediscover the both of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night El’s Me Time Saved Their Sex Life (The Rediscovery Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Please note: contains exhibitionism without spectator consent and an unnegotiated scene
> 
> Unbetaed and concrit welcome.
> 
> Premise and all dialogue and action in the last section comes from The Night El’s Me Time Saved Their Sex Life: http://afiawri.livejournal.com/8346.html#cutid1  
> (with additional borrowing from Where the Wind Comes From, Nobody Knows (Wind on a HIll) http://afiawri.livejournal.com/25671.html#cutid2). Mirror and painting motif borrowed from isagel.

Art was supposed to be sensual, to open your eyes to new ways of seeing, but this was a little unexpected even so. El was supposed to be making sure there wetr enough wine and hors d’oeuvres left for the ongoing exhibition opening, but her attention was drawn over and over to a painting and live model in the center of the gallery.

The painting, done in a vivid hyper-realist style, was of a kneeling woman seen in a mirror’s frame, bound with black rope around her breasts and ribs in intricate knots, with clips attached to her nipples, her head thrown back slightly in ecstasy or pain or both. The painting was so detailed you could see the weave of the rope, the shine of the clips, and the tight crinkles of her brown, pebbled nipples where they weren’t obscured by the clips. The woman’s expression looked like some depictions of saints and martyrs El had seen. The living model knelt naked on a low pedestal directly in front of the picture in the same attitude and accouterments, mirroring the pose and a subtler, more subdued version of that transcendent gaze fixed on her picture-self. Every time El passed, she caught a glimpse of the slight heave of her chest and tremble of the clips and chain as the woman breathed, the way the dark, soft-looking ropes cut across her skin in diamond patterns and knots, the slight sheen of sweat on her upper lip. She looked--transported, gaze fixed on the portrait but turned inward too, completely attuned to her body and somewhere besides the the crowded, chattering gallery. El admired the rest of the art but there was something that drew her back over and over to the painting and the woman, twin portraits of ecstasy and concentration. El felt hot, self-conscious as the woman wasn’t, unsettled, aroused.

In the days afterward she found herself thinking about the painting and the model, always with that same shiver of arousal--during client meetings, while she was doing dishes, walking Satchmo, riding in cabs, or when having drinks with a friend.

“Hello, earth to El?” Christie waved a hand in front of El’s blank gaze.

El blinked back to reality, startled, and smiled sheepishly at Christie seated beside her on the couch. “Sorry, I’m just a little distracted right now.”

Christie grinned, unoffended. “No kidding! Well, wherever you were, it looked like a good place to be.” She quirked an eyebrow.

El flushed even more, playing with the stem of her wine glass and tucking her feet up underneath her on the couch. “I was just thinking about this art exhibit I catered the other week. There’s this installation I can’t get off my mind.”

“Must be some art, then.” Christie left it there, content to wait for further comment or to move on. El always liked how easy and open Christie was about silence or speech. It was one of the reasons that their occasional FBI-widow meet ups had turned into regular get-togethers and a real friendship.

If anyone might understand about this, it would be Christie. Late night drinks awhile back had turned into good-natured dishing about maintaining relationships with their respective longtime partners and plain old girl talk. She took a fortifying gulp of wine and then described the exhibit. When she finished, Christie laughed, not unkindly, and said, “Well, sounds like there’s not a lot of mystery there. You set eyes on a hot naked woman for the first time in awhile. Lord knows I love Diana, but that would’ve stayed on my mind afterwards too.”

El snorted. “Yeah, she was beautiful, and I wouldn’t have kicked her out of bed for eating crackers, but it wasn’t just that. I see a million beautiful women a day in the city, and it’s not like I haven’t seen porn anytime in the last decade. There was just something about the way she looked, all bound and open and into it, and she was looking at herself in that painting. . .” She trailed off and waved her wine glass around a bit to encompass--she didn’t know what. Maybe she ought to quit drinking; she wasn’t usually this inarticulate. It was just that the woman had looked lost in pleasure and pain in the painting and in life, looking inward at herself even with others looking at her, so tuned into her body and her own responses that the entire world could pass by and she wouldn’t care.

Christie just hummed speculatively around her mouthful of wine. “Things been a little slow around the homestead lately? Ow, no need to get violent, woman,” she said, fending off El’s batting arm. “Yeah, Peter is a god amongst men, etc. etc. but after ten years, even sex with a god can get a little old. Believe me, I know. Diana and I went through the same thing not so long ago.”

El had to admit the initial fire between her and Peter **had** settled down to a banked blaze, though not exactly in a bad way. Peter’s body was known to her, every scar, hair, and sweet spot recognizable like their living room in the dark. They knew all the ways to get each other off, and it was good just to touch him, to know she could reach out for him across the breakfast table or in bed and know he would be there. The sex was comfortable, fun, loving--Peter still touched her like she was a treasure after all these years. She’d be a fool to complain, and sometimes it blindsided her how much she still loved him. But she had to admit that sometimes in bed she longed for something more than comfortable. She caught herself drifting off to things that had happened that day, distracted by mundane details. She grinned ruefully.

“Yeah, I did ask whether he’d taken the laundry off soak right in the middle once. Once!”

Christie burst out laughing, and El joined in. When they got hold of themselves, El--sobered but not sober--asked, “So what did you do?”

“We switched it up, tried some new stuff. And believe me, breaking out the ropes and such can work if it’s what you like. Have you tried it?”

El cocked her head, musing. “No. I don’t even really know if Peter would be up for it. Or if I would.”

“Well, the only way to know is try it out, even just for yourself. See what it was about the exhibit that got you going. Naked in public? Ropes and clamps? Mirrors? I tried some stuff myself before I talked about it with Diana, and then we tried it together and figured out what worked. What have you got to lose except for a little time? And would you rather spend that time worrying about your laundry?”

El laughed again, and they killed the last of the wine bottle and moved on to Christie’s ongoing adjustment to New York. But later than night, curled up in bed beside Peter, head spinning a little still from the wine, she thought maybe finding her own groove first wasn’t a bad idea.

*

One sunny afternoon, she went to the park in a long flowing peasant skirt with nothing on underneath. Just the feel of air flowing around her legs and teasing her inner lips as she walked was enough to start getting her wet, passing by all these people who didn’t know she was exposed underneath. She chose a less-trafficked corner of the park just on the other side of a hill. She wasn’t so far away from the sound of people that she felt dangerously isolated, but not so close she feared someone accidentally stumbling upon her. She lay on the sun-warmed grass, feeling the cool earth underneath her, the grass tickling her calves. She slowly drew up her skirt, feeling the caress of the fabric like another light hand, and tried bringing herself off under the sun.

For a bit she’d been too distracted--the sounds of people coming closer made her twitch and open her eyes, the tickle of grass and an ant crawling across her ankle made her shiver. It had been good and new, but it hadn’t hit amazing until, remembering the picture and the woman again, she’d pinched her nipple sharply. The sensation, even through her light blouse, had gone right down to her center, making her instantly wetter. Squeezing one breast and pinching the other nipple had been even better. She alternated between breasts and imagined that she could only move her hand between those three bright points of sensation, like she was tied down to the earth as everything spun around her and the air touched her skin. She’d come with a gasp. She lay there for a minute catching her breath. Ok, so maybe there was something to the rope and nipple clamp thing too.

*

She waited for the next experiment until a weekend when she knew Peter would be out for awhile. The idea of possibly getting caught had been a little exciting but more of mood killer than she liked, and she felt oddly shy about explaining to Peter what she was up to. They didn’t normally keep secrets (Peter was terrible at it and she didn’t see the point), but in a way it would almost be easier to be caught by strangers than Peter. She knew they needed to talk about their sex life and she wasn’t one to put off difficult emotional conversations, but she wanted to be sure what she wanted first--whether this was a one-off desire or something deeper she wanted to do with Peter more of the time.

She pushed Satchmo out, closed their bedroom door, and after a moment of thought, locked it. So what to use? She looked around the bedroom. Peter’s belt? Too thick, not flexible enough and not long enough besides. Her eyes lit on her bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It was her favorite, blue and fuzzy and worn in, and the belt was long and trailing. Perfect. She pulled it out of the loops and ran it through her hands, appreciating the soft terry texture in a new way.

Now the clips. She rummaged around her dresser drawer. There were the binder clips from Peter’s reports; those things migrated everywhere. She clipped one on the webbing between her finger and thumb and winced a bit. They were a little stiff and hard to control. She imagined that on her nipples and frowned. Maybe not, at least not on the first go.

She dug a little deeper in the drawer and came up with the red hair clips Peter had gotten her last Valentine’s Day; they were small, with tiny teeth. She usually didn’t wear them because they were a little too sparkly for her everyday office wear. She opened and closed one gently to test the spring, barely resisting the urge to make little animal growls, and clipped it on the webbing of her hand again--perfect. And wearing something Peter gave her would make her feel a little like he was there, a part of this, touching her.

She set everything down on the beside table, undressed and sat at the edge of the bed, feeling a little awkward. OK, how to do this? She tried to recall the way the model in the picture had been tied, but quickly gave that up as a bad job. With only her there, there was no way she could get that elaborate construction of knots and ties. Plus, she’d been a terrible Girl Scout. Best to start simple anyway.

She slipped the belt around her back and then crossed it in the center of her chest, wrapped the ends over the top of her breasts and then around back again. She pulled as tight as she could and tied it awkwardly in back. The terry scratched gently, and her breasts felt and looked kind of enormous. She wasn’t small anyway but wow, she looked like a pinup model like this, her breasts on offer to herself and the open air. The squeeze of the belt around her chest and ribs made her breath come a little faster already from the constriction and the excitement. The woman in the dresser mirror looked voluptuous, enticing, not like everyday El Burke. She had to close her eyes against the sight for a moment and felt the first low deep throb inside her. She lay back and her breasts still pointed up, round and soft, instead of settling to the sides like they usually did. She ghosted her hands over the tips lightly, watching her areolae crinkle, and then pinched gently at her nipples and rolled them between her thumb and forefingers. Mmm, that was nice but nothing like the sharp sensation she’d felt when she had pinched them roughly in the park. She tried again a little harder and yeah, that was more like it. She was getting pleasantly wet and could have spent more time like this, but now she was eager to get on to the main event.

She picked up one of the hair clips. She rolled her right nipple between her fingers again and then clipped it on and slowly released. Pressure, first dull then sharper as she let go. She hissed a little; it hurt, maybe more than she wanted at first, and then it was all just sensation, sharp and bright and then settling back into a dull persistent throb. She slid a hand down and slipped a finger along her inner lips, feeling how wet she’d gotten. She dipped slightly inside and then moved her thumb to focus on her clit, her hand repeating the rolling motion she’d used on her nipple. Every now and then she brushed the clip, setting off another shock of sensation, feeling the answering sparks make her clench tighter. She played back and forth, slowly stringing herself out between both hands. She was nothing but feeling, her body, these sensations; laundry was the last thing on her mind. As she felt the wave crest, she pulled off the clip and shouted as she came hard. Afterwards she lay on the bed, panting at the ceiling, her nipple and clit throbbing in time, feeling simultaneously relaxed and keyed up. She blew her hair off her sweaty forehead, sat up a bit to untie the belt from around her breasts and then collapsed back into the bed. She curled up a little to enjoy the afterglow, licked her fingers and soothed her slightly sore nipple. “Well, that went well.”

*

Maybe she got a little carried away after that, so sue her. It was like the dim house lights had come up suddenly in a theater that was bigger than she had known, and she was curious. She wanted the backstage tour now, no matter how unfamiliar the wings were. Whenever she knew Peter would be out late for a case or was away on the weekend, she whipped out the belt and the hair clips and went to town. She figured out that she could anchor the belt between her breasts only instead of behind her back and have room to double wrap them in the loops of the belt; what she lost in chest constriction was more than made up for in the way her breasts were pushed up so far she could lick her own nipples. She learned that she could bear to have both nipples clamped and liked to pull and twist them roughly with the clips on, except right around her period. She spent meetings pressing her legs together and savoring the delicious brush of her lace bra and silk blouse against her sore nipples and imagining that Peter had pinched and clipped them sensitive and would soothe them with his tongue as soon as she got home. She went online and did a little research and figured out that she couldn’t do it for too long at a time if she wanted to maintain her circulation and that the longer the clips stayed on the more they’d hurt coming off. She also found a lot of terrible porn but some good stuff too and learned that a local branch of a feminist sex toy shop wasn’t far away. One Saturday when Peter went into work, she girded up her loins and dropped in.

The pink-haired young woman at the counter smiled when she walked in, but just called out “Let me know if I can help you with anything” and left her alone to browse, which El was grateful for. She was pretty matter-of-fact about most things, but she wasn’t sure that she was ready to say “nipple clamps” to a complete stranger yet. She wandered through the store, thinking what a far cry this brightly lit, cheerful place was from the 42nd Street sex shop she and her friends had dared each other into when they were teenagers. Here, there were beautiful displays of dildos and vibrators in all colors, shapes and sizes, signs advertising workshops on making eco-friendly sex toys and sex after pregnancy, and whole racks of books and videos where the women on the covers actually looked like they were having fun. El browsed around and eventually made her way over to wall where there was a dizzying array of clamps, tassels, ropes, restraints, cuffs and chains. She spent awhile just looking, fingering various things, and imagining them on her body with trepidation or pleasure. There was so much she felt a little overwhelmed. She must have been standing there for longer than she thought, looking as lost as she felt, because the saleswoman came over and asked, “Can I help answer any questions?”

El hesitated, hoping she wasn’t blushing too hard, and then figured what the hell. This was what she was here for and the woman must be used to nervous newbies coming in all the time.

“I’m looking for some nipple clamps?” She was proud of the way her voice hardly even wavered.

The saleswoman smiled reassuringly. “Well we’ve got quite a range as you see. What you want will depend on whether you want more gentle stimulation or if you like something that’s a little rougher.”

El surprised herself by immediately saying, “A little rougher.”

“Then these clover clamps here are pretty popular.” The woman went on to explain some of the other choices. and El found herself relaxing and asking for advice on restraints and other tips. El left the shop with a new set of clamps, restraints, a vibrator, a brochure about upcoming events and workshops, and a growing sense of confidence and relief. She’d done it. She’d said it out loud to someone else--not just nipple clamps but what she liked--and not much had changed but everything had. There was a whole community out there with workshops and businesses and women like her that didn’t think it was weird at all that she wanted this, and in fact were happy she was there. She’d gone in feeling a little like that teenaged girl back on 42nd Street but she wasn’t. She was a grown woman now, and she could damn well get what she wanted. She set off down the street, smiling and swinging her bag a little. She’d have lunch at that little wine bar around the corner and then head home. Suddenly she couldn’t wait until Peter got back.

*

When Peter got home that night, she’d jumped him, to his evident surprise and pleasure. It had started out well and then got, well. . . .almost boring after the sharp, overwhelming sensation she was used to now in her solo sessions. Afterward, as she lay panting beside him, she thought it was about time she showed Peter the new things she really liked. And showing would probably be easier than saying; getting Peter to talk about anything emotional was work at the best of times. She rolled out of bed and went for her bathrobe belt; she’d wait to spring the full-blown restraints on him. She focused on the tying at first, wondering a little what she would see on his face when she looked up. She could feel his eyes on her like another weight, making this all new again. She was flushed even more than from their earlier activities, but she looked him dead in the eye when she finished and patted one upthrust breast.

“What do you think? Ah, I felt that everywhere, even the nipple.”

Peter’s stunned and lustful expression sent another wave of heat through her and shortened her breath along with the tie. He looked fascinated, like he was seeing that new woman she had seen in the mirror the first time, like he was seeing her anew.

“How does it feel?” She smiled a little wryly; that was her Peter, analytical and concrete to the core.

“Well, it’s pressing in on me. And they feel huge.”

Peter approached her and reached out to touch but hesitated. He looked like he was almost too afraid--no, respectful--to break this moment. She felt a little like a goddess. It was so much more intense with his eyes on her like this, so much better. He let his hand come down and caress her breast, testing the firmness and uplift of them, pinching her nipple like she’d imagined him doing so many times before. Though his touch was light, she felt it arrow down to her core like the clamps. She gasped and threw her head back. Why had she waited do long to share this with him? Like everything she had found since they met, everything was even better Peter.

When she brought her head up again she could see him eyeing the tie speculatively and feel him playing with the long loops left over. Oh, her clever clever FBI man; she should have known he would get it quickly. She gave the nod, and he double wrapped her breasts as she normally did for herself. Having him do it, having him serve her this way, felt heady. She felt the air tight in her lungs and the blood rushing in her ears, suddenly reckless, open, free. This was so close to what she wanted, why not go all the way?

“Usually, when I do this, I put clips on my nipples.”

She watched him to see how he would take it and wasn’t disappointed when his pupils dilated.

“Clips?” Like he didn’t know exactly what she meant, like he wasn’t picturing it in his mind right now, his eyes intense on hers.

“Hair clips, sweetie. Those cutsie tiny ones with teeth that you never see me wear? I wear them.”

“With teeth…”

He was so cute when he got that little wrinkle in his forehead, and it was even cuter when he was all sex-fuzzled like now. This was going to be so much fun. She pulled away with a kiss to his brow and got the hair clips out of their drawer. She turned and showed them to him, snapping them open and closed. Having him watching made the anticipation of the bite even better, and she held his eyes as she snapped one down on her right nipple unceremoniously. The sudden rush of pain hit her harder than usual, combined with seeing her expression reflected in his. She cried out and felt her knees buckle a bit. Peter caught her in his arms for a moment, his face showing equal parts lust and wonder.

“Did you just come?”

El steadied herself, breathing hard, and watched the way his eyes fixed on the clip bobbing up and down with her breath, the needle of his gaze drawing another thread of sensation down through her body. “Nearly. It’s different with you watching,” That was an understatement.

He picked up the other clip off the dresser and played with it, then pinched her left nipple gently, all the while never drawing his gaze away from her other one peeking though the clip, The dull throb was even more intense, and she wanted her left nipple to match, wanted him to twist and pull like he did in her daydreams. He was so protective, but right now she just wanted him to take.

“Oh, be a man Peter, give it a twist, pull it. You’re too gentle.”

“They’re sensitive, I thought?”

She leaned away from him a little to increase the stretch as he finally began to roll her nipple between his fingers, wishing he would pull so she could really feel it. Her hips thrust up involuntarily; she was too far away from him to get friction and she let her hand slide down to her wet center. She could barely think to talk; she just wanted to feel now.

“They are,” she gasped out. Why was he still talking?

“So…”

“So do it, Peter! Ah-aaah. Like that.” She was breathless from the sudden bite of the clip. She would have admired his deviousness if she hadn’t been arching from the sudden sweet pain. The other clip had dulled to a low throb until her sudden jump jostled it again, and she could feel the sensation zinging through her. She would deny the sound that had come out of her if he brought it up but couldn’t help returning an answering smirk of satisfaction when she opened her eyes. Peter pinched the clips again, and she moaned in pleasure. He looked entranced, like he couldn’t believe they were doing this and like he was getting something he didn’t know he’d wanted. Oh, this had been the best idea ever.

“How are your nipples going to feel tomorrow?” he asked speculatively.

She shivered, remembering; she wanted him to know, to see what she had done to herself so many times thinking about it. She slowly pulled away and climbed back on the bed, arranging herself like she had so many times when she’d made herself come alone in this room. But now Peter was here, seeing. It was almost more intimate than having him touch her. She arched her back and slid her fingers in herself and her eyes closed, the delicious throb and fullness inside her a counterpoint to the fullness and throb of her bound breasts and pinched nipples. She wanted to go slow, but she didn’t think she could manage it. “They’re going to rub up against my bra every time I breathe. And then throb every few minutes. And I’ll want to touch them all day, but I’ll be stuck talking to clients like that, getting wetter and wetter- oh! Oh!” She’d felt Peter settle beside her on the bed, but the light brush of his fingers against her nipples in the clips set off another round of clenching. She was so close. . .

“And thinking of your hands doing exactly that.” And then her world exploded and her eyes flew open as he suddenly raked his nails across her nipple tips like tiny lines of fire. She nearly cried from the pleasure and pain of it.

“Yeah?” He sounded as breathless as she was.

“Yeah.” The clips were tight and Peter twisted them even tighter and pulled, making her yell. It was just perfectly this side of too much, and that just made her wetter, hotter. This was so much more intense with Peter there, watching, seeing how into it she was. He slipped a finger into her to join hers and thumbed her clit. After all these years he knew her body even in this, matched her, pushed her, and threw her over that bright shining edge.

“We’re buying you a vibrator,” she heard him say as she cried out and came so hard she lost time.

Later, curled against him in lazy pleasure and slipping into sleep after he had fucked her into another orgasm and through his own, she figured there would be plenty of time to talk. She’d tell him about the vibrator she’d already bought and how he could use it on her clit while tugging the chain of the clover clamps and releasing them just as she came. She’d tell him he could watch in the mirror as he fucked her from behind and pulled on the clips. She’d tell him about her fantasy about him tying both her and Neal up and get to hear what turned him on too. There would be plenty of time for all kinds of new things.


End file.
